Quote 1
He [the roadrat] let go of the belt and it fell in the roadway with the gear hanging from it. A canteen. An old canvas army pouch. A leather sheath for a knife. When he looked up the roadrat was holding the knife in his hand. He'd only taken two steps but he was almost between him and the child.
[The Man:] What do you think you're going to do with that?
He didnt answer. He was a big man but he was quick. He dove and grabbed the boy and rolled and came up holding him against his chest with the knife at his throat. The man had already dropped to the ground and he swung with him and leveled the pistol and fired from a two-handed position balanced on both knees at a distance of six feet. The man fell back instantly and lay with blood bubbling from the hole in his forehead. (102.54-102.56)
There are plenty of extremely violent set pieces in The Road, and this is one of them. When a roadrat (one of the "bad guys" who steals and murders) tries to take The Boy hostage, The Man responds pretty much like an action hero in a movie would. He drops to his knees, pivots, and fires straight into the roadrat's forehead. McCarthy's description – "blood bubbling from the hole in his forehead" – is quite graphic.
Obviously we're very happy The Man is able to protect The Boy. But you also kind of have to wonder about the guy's ridiculous firearm skills. It's like when your friend has to tell a lie to protect you, but you're a little taken aback by just how good he is at lying – it's a little troubling.
They walked into the little clearing, the boy clutching his hand. They'd taken everything with them except whatever black thing was skewered over the coals. He was standing there checking the perimeter when the boy turned and buried his face against him. He looked quickly to see what had happened. What is it? he said. What is it? The boy shook his head. Oh Papa, he said. He turned and looked again. What the boy had seen was a charred human infant headless and gutted and blackening on the spit. He bent and picked the boy up and started for the road with him, holding him close. I'm sorry, he whispered. I'm sorry. (276.1)
OK, so this is the other infamous passage in The Road. The Man and The Boy happen upon a campfire with a spit. On the spit there's the charred body of an infant. This is probably the most horrifying image in the book, but it's worth shifting our gaze to The Man's response. He picks up The Boy (because he wants to keep him safe?) and carries him to the road. Then he apologizes to The Boy. And isn't this how parents respond when the less attractive parts of life encroach upon their children? They apologize both for how terrible the world can be and that they let down their guard, somehow allowing the kid to see the world at its worst.
And then later in the darkness:
[The Boy:] Can I ask you something?
[The Man:] Yes. Of course you can.
[The Boy:] What would you do if I died?
[The Man:] If you died I would want to die too.
[The Boy:] So you could be with me?
[The Man:] Yes. So I could be with you.
[The Boy:] Okay. (11.16-11.22)
Earlier in the novel, The Woman criticizes The Man for using The Boy as a reason to live. ("The one thing I can tell you is that you wont survive for yourself" [93.22].) We think The Woman's approach is a little cynical. Isn't it a good thing that The Man wants to live in order to care for the boy? That he would die to be with The Boy? We're going out on a limb here, but we think The Road contains one of the most moving father-son relationships in all of American literature.
He sat the boy on the footlocker under the gaslamp and with a plastic comb and a pair of scissors he set about cutting his hair. He tried to do a good job and it took some time. When he was done he took the towel from around the boy's shoulders and he scooped the golden hair from the floor and wiped the boy's face and shoulders with a damp cloth and held a mirror for him to see.
[The Boy:] You did a good job, Papa.
[The Man:] Good.
[The Boy:] I look really skinny.
[The Man:] You are really skinny.
He cut his own hair but it didnt come out so good. He trimmed his beard with the scissors while a pan of water heated and then he shaved himself with a plastic safety razor. The boy watched. When he was done he regarded himself in the mirror. He seemed to have no chin. He turned to the boy. How do I look? The boy cocked his head. I dont know, he said. Will you be cold? (225.1-225.6)
What does this passage have to do with love? Well, The Man does a better job cutting The Boy's hair than he does his own. You may respond: "OK. Whatever. The Man can actually see what he's doing when he cuts The Boy's hair." Fair enough. But isn't this "failure" part of love? That we care for others somehow better than we could ever care for ourselves?
He stopped. What happened to your flute?
[The Boy:] I threw it away.
[The Man:] You threw it away?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] Okay. (231.54-231.59)
Earlier, The Man had carved The Boy this nifty flute. (McCarthy doesn't really describe the carving – he just mentions it.) It must have taken a long time – musical instruments aren't easy to make after all. So The Boy just goes and throws the flute away? Wouldn't you be angry and hurt? But The Man isn't – or doesn't seem to be – which only goes to show how much he loves The Boy. Didn't someone once say that love is patient?
He looked at the boy. See if you can find the first-aid kit, he said.
The boy didn't move.
[The Man:] Get the first-aid kit, damn it. Don't just sit there.
[. . .]
He took a clamp from the kit and caught the needle in the jaws and locked them and set about suturing the wound. He worked quickly and he took no great pains about it. The boy was crouching in the floor. He looked at him and he bent to the sutures again.
[. . .]
He ran the knot down the thread and pulled it taut and cut off the silk with the scissors from the kit and looked at the boy. The boy was looking at what he'd done.
[The Man:] I'm sorry I yelled at you.
He looked up. That's okay, Papa.
[The Man:] Let's start over.
[The Boy:] Okay. (365.1-365.13)
The Man has just been shot in the leg by an arrow. Imagine you've just been shot in the leg by an arrow and you say to your son, "Son, go see if you can find the first-aid kit in the garage. I think it's next to the bike pump." Your son just stares at you. Of course you would say to him: "Get the *&$% first-aid kit, Billy." You are, let's not forget, bleeding profusely from a wound. In this passage, however, after The Man stitches his own wound (ouch!), he apologizes to The Boy. He says, "Let's start over." Put this in the parenting book, because this is how love is done.
[The Boy:] You're going to be okay, Papa. You have to.
[The Man:] No I'm not.
[. . .]
[The Boy:] Just take me with you.
[The Man:] I cant.
[The Boy:] Please, Papa.
[The Man:] I cant. I cant hold my son dead in my arms. I thought I could but I cant.
[The Boy:] You said you wouldnt ever leave me.
[The Man:] I know. I'm sorry. You have my whole heart. You always did. You're the best guy. You always were. If I'm not here you can still talk to me. You can talk to me and I'll talk to you. You'll see. (381.4-381.21)
One of the things that makes the relationship between The Man and The Boy so moving is that the dialogue is convincing. It's not hard to imagine a father saying to his young son, "You're the best guy." Fathers say this cute stuff all the time, even without gangs of cannibals forcing them to be nice to their kids. But something else makes this touching. It's that The Man really means what he says. The Boy does serve as a moral compass for the two road-weary travelers. He is the best guy.
[The Boy:] I wish I was with my mom.
He [The Man] didnt answer. He sat beside the small figure wrapped in the quilts and blankets. After a while he said: You mean you wish that you were dead.
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] You musnt say that.
[The Boy:] But I do.
[The Man:] Dont say it. It's a bad thing to say.
[The Boy:] I cant help it.
[The Man:] I know. But you have to.
[The Boy:] How do I do it?
[The Man:] I dont know. (92.4-92.13)
This is a complicated exchanged between The Man and The Boy. In a sense, The Man does know, in their terrible situation, how to keep going. You find someone to devote yourself to (e.g. The Boy) and spend every waking moment fulfilling that purpose. But he can't tell that to The Boy. For one, he doesn't express his feelings like that. And two, it would heap too much pressure on The Boy. Most people, particularly sons and daughters, just get weirded out when you tell them they're the purpose and meaning of your life.
The falling snow curtained them about. There was no way to see anything at either side of the road. He was coughing again and the boy was shivering, the two of them side by side under the sheet of plastic, pushing the grocery cart through the snow. Finally he stopped. The boy was shaking uncontrollably.
We had to stop, he [The Man] said.
[The Boy:] It's really cold.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] Where are we?
[The Man:] Where are we?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] I dont know.
[The Boy:] If we were going to die would you tell me?
[The Man:] I dont know. We're not going to die. (144.1-144.10)
As in Robinson Crusoe, Lost, and other survival stories, these characters often find themselves on the brink of death. But we especially enjoy the nearly absurd dialogue between The Man and The Boy here. (If you've read Samuel Beckett's play Waiting for Godot, dialogue like this might sound familiar.) The Boy wants to know whether The Man would say anything if they were close to death. The Man says he doesn't know if he'd tell The Boy. Then he says, "We're not going to die." How is The Boy supposed to believe him if he just said he might not tell him? Basically, The Boy will just have to take his word for it.
It was harder going even than he would have guessed. In an hour they'd made perhaps a mile. He stopped and looked back at the boy. The boy stopped and waited.
[The Man:] You think we're going to die, dont you?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] We're not going to die.
[The Boy:] Okay.
[The Man:] But you dont believe me.
[. . .]
[The Man:] How long do you think people can go without food?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] But how long do you think?
[The Boy:] Maybe a few days.
[The Man:] And then what? You fall over dead?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Well you dont. It takes a long time. We have water. That's the most important thing. You dont last very long without water.
[. . .]
He [The Man] studied him. Standing there with his hands in the pockets of the outsized pinstriped suitcoat.
[The Man:] Do you think I might lie to you?
[The Boy:] No.
[The Man:] But you think I might lie to you about dying?
[The Boy:] Yes.
[The Man:] Okay. I might. But we're not dying.
[The Boy:] Okay. (155.1-155.32)
This is another example of the absurd discourse about death between The Boy and The Man (see previous quote). It's cool also to think of these dialogues as happening within one person. We all recognize the inevitability of death, and yet at some level we don't acknowledge it. It's normal to avoid thinking about what we fear the most.
[The Man:] There's no one here. There has been no one here for years. There are no tracks in the ash. Nothing disturbed. No furniture burned in the fireplace. There's food here.
[The Boy:] Tracks dont stay in the ash. You said so yourself. The wind blows them away. (291.17-291.18)
Erasure in The Road is pretty much total. Much of what once characterized the lives of the survivors has been incinerated into ash, and when they walk on that ash, the wind erases their footprints. So, imagine playing the song "Dust in the Wind" while parts of your stereo system crumbled and blew away. "Yeah," you would say. "McCarthy was right. This world is transient."
[The Man:] You wanted to know what the bad guys looked like. Now you know. It may happen again. My job is to take care of you. I was appointed to do that by God. I will kill anyone who touches you. Do you understand? (120.5)
A little plot background might help here: the Man has just saved The Boy from a very scary-looking dude who probably would have killed him. (It's unclear why this scary-looking dude tries to kidnap The Boy. To get The Man's stuff? So he can get The Man and The Boy back to his truck and eat them?) It is clear, however, that The Man takes parenting – which, in this book, involves protecting kids from bloodcults – very seriously. Seriously enough, in fact, to say it's his God-given mission in life.
[The Man:] How would you know if you were the last man on earth? he said.
[Ely:] I dont guess you would know it. You'd just be it.
[The Man:] Nobody would know it.
[Ely:] It wouldnt make any difference. When you die it's the same as if everybody else did too.
[The Man:] I guess God would know it. Is that it?
[Ely:] There is no God.
[The Man:] No?
[Ely:] There is no God and we are his prophets. (237.23-237.30)
The Boy and The Man meet an old man on the road who at first says his name is Ely but then says that's not really his name. (For simplicity's sake, we're just calling him Ely.) Ely says some mysterious things, especially this last catchy phrase: "There is no God and we are his prophets." What in tarnation does that even mean? It could mean: "God doesn't exist and our suffering is proof that he doesn't exist." It could also mean: "God doesn't exist up above the universe, but he exists in some of us (like The Boy) and so we are his prophets." Or – and this is the more complicated, juicier version – it could just be one of those mystical religious statements that don't make logical sense but ring true to many people. (Here's a familiar one: "Jesus was both divine and human.") Is your head spinning now? Good.
[Ely:] When I saw that boy I thought I had died.
[The Man:] You thought he was an angel?
[Ely:] I didnt know what he was. I never thought to see a child again. I didnt know that would happen.
[The Man:] What if I said that he's a god?
The old man [Ely] shook his head. I'm past all that now. Have been for years. Where men cant live gods fare no better. You'll see. It's better to be alone. So I hope that's not true what you said because to be on the road with the last god would be a terrible thing so I hope it's not true. Things will be better when everybody's gone. (237.72-237.76)
Ely can be a real downer. For example, this statement: "It's better to be alone." He also pretty much says the years have worn down his belief in anything exceptional, anything holy. We think "where men cant live gods fare no better" means that men carry their gods within them. When men get broken by suffering, their gods also disappear. It's kind of a novel statement – that our happiness and comfort allow our gods to exist.
He loaded the flarepistol and as soon as it was dark they walked out down the beach away from the fire and he asked the boy if he wanted to shoot it.
[The Boy:] You shoot it, Papa. You know how to do it.
[The Man:] Okay.
He cocked the gun and aimed it out over the bay and pulled the trigger. The flare arced up into the murk with a long whoosh and broke somewhere out over the water in a clouded light and hung there. The hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark and the pale foreshore tide started in the glare and slowly faded. He looked down at the boy's upturned face.
[The Boy]: They couldnt see it very far, could they Papa?
[The Man:] Who?
[The Boy:] Anybody.
[The Man:] No. Not far.
[The Boy:] If you wanted to show where you were.
[The Man:] You mean like to the good guys?
[The Boy:] Yes. Or anybody that you wanted them to know where you were.
[The Man:] Like who?
[The Boy:] I dont know.
[The Man:] Like God?
[The Boy:] Yeah. Maybe somebody like that. (336.1-336.15)
The Man doesn't really believe either "the good guys" or God will actually see the flarepistol. But the way McCarthy describes the flare's explosion over the water – "hot tendrils of magnesium drifted slowly down the dark" – suggests that the gesture is somehow beautiful. To put it another way, we have a hard time believing McCarthy would use such pretty language if he wants us to feel despair. Rather, we think McCarthy wants us to see The Man's irrational hope of finding other "good guys" (or God) as both tragic and beautiful.
[The Man:] Will you tell him [The Boy] goodbye?
[The Woman:] No. I will not.
[The Man:] Just wait till morning. Please.
[The Woman:] I have to go.
She had already stood up.
[The Man:] For the love of God, woman. What am I to tell him?
[The Woman:] I cant help you.
[The Man:] Where are you going to go? You cant even see.
[The Woman:] I dont have to.
He stood up. I'm begging you, he said.
[The Woman:] No. I will not. I cannot. (93.25-93.35)
Ouch. The Boy's mother leaves without so much as a good-bye. We think this passage functions as a barometer of how bad things get in The Road. It's not that The Boy's mother is really cruel (OK, maybe she's a little cruel) but that the world now strikes her as incredibly hopeless. She chooses not to fight against that hopelessness. Of course, The Boy still has his father's love, but you can imagine the absence The Boy must feel because his mother leaves so suddenly.
[The Boy:] Do you think somebody is coming?
[The Man:] Yes. Sometime.
[The Boy:] You said nobody was coming.
[The Man:] I didnt mean ever.
[The Boy:] I wish we could live here.
[The Man:] I know.
[The Boy:] We could be on the lookout.
[The Man:] We are on the lookout.
[The Boy:] What if some good guys came?
[The Man:] Well, I dont think we're likely to meet any good guys on the road.
[The Boy:] We're on the road.
[The Man:] I know. (224.8-224.19)
The Boy makes a very good point here. Supposedly there aren't any good guys on the road – but aren't they on the road? This could mean a couple things. One, it could mean The Man and The Boy aren't actually "good guys" since no "good guys" travel the road. We're inclined to disagree with that statement. (Disclosure: We do have a soft spot for these characters, but that's only because they try really hard to be good people.) Or, it could mean these The Man and The Boy are completely alone – the only "good guys" left on the road.
[The Boy:] There are other guys. You said so.
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] So where are they?
[The Man:] They're hiding.
[The Boy:] Who are they hiding from?
[The Man:] From each other.
[The Boy:] Are there lots of them?
[The Man:] We dont know.
[The Boy:] But some.
[The Man:] Some. Yes.
[The Boy:] Is that true?
[The Man:] Yes. That's true.
[The Boy:] But it might not be true.
[The Man:] I think it's true.
[The Boy:] Okay.
[The Man:] You dont believe me.
[The Boy:] I believe you.
[The Man:] Okay.
[The Boy:] I always believe you.
[The Man:] I dont think so.
[The Boy:] Yes I do. I have to. (254.1-254.21)
Let's get this straight, Mr. McCarthy. So there might be other "good guys" out there in the world, but The Man isn't sure. And if there are other "good guys" out there, they're hiding from each other and therefore unlikely to ever meet. Which means The Man and The Boy are unlikely to meet any other good souls on the road?
The boy lifted the [flare]gun from the case and held it. Can you shoot somebody with it? he said.
[The Man:] You could.
[The Boy:] Would it kill them?
[The Man:] No. But it might set them on fire.
[The Boy:] Is that why you got it?
[The Man:] Yes.
[The Boy:] Because there's nobody to signal to. Is there?
[The Man:] No. (333.14-333.21)
McCarthy gives us a good dose of irony here. (Take it, reader! It's good for you!) Instead of using the flare gun to signal other people, The Man figures he'll use it to set them on fire. As if the only form of communication left on the planet is violence. So a tool typically used to signal distress becomes a grisly weapon.
He [The Boy] sat there cowled in the blanket. After a while he looked up. Are we still the good guys? he said.
[The Man:] Yes. We're still the good guys.
[The Boy:] And we always will be.
[The Man:] Yes. We always will be.
[The Boy:] Okay. (120.7-120.11)
This exchange happens pretty soon after The Man had to kill the roadrat. The Boy wants to know if they're still "good guys" after killing someone. Despite his doubts earlier that morning, The Man thinks they are still "good guys." We agree. But we also think McCarthy plays around with his terms here. There are actually no "good guys" in the strictest, most traditional sense. There are just the "sometimes-morally-compromised-but-mostly-good guys."